


Buried Along With Your Name

by oncealiceswann



Series: Drabblemania [3]
Category: British Singers RPF, The Beatles
Genre: Ghost John, Multi, worlds apart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 11:13:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2770943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oncealiceswann/pseuds/oncealiceswann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>About forty years after John's death, he came in his ghost's form to seek Paul who was desperate for his forgiveness. Will Paul ever get it? Or... Something more?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Buried Along With Your Name

**Author's Note:**

> I'm feeling stressed today.

    'It's fucking cold here.'  
    Paul heard a voice inside his empty house. Linda was out, and his son hand just gone out to the supermarket. The supermarket has a lot more to sell today than the old days, Paul thought, and sometimes he had to ask others what those strange products are for his eyes were not so good as they were before. They'd look at him with sympathy for an old man in their eyes and tell him everything about it quite patiently, and then--- 'Oh my god, you are the Beatle---' He just smiled anyway, he was too old to flirt with a girl as he usually did in his young age, also it seemed that new bands like Coldplay or OneRepublic or something are replacing him very quickly. Oasis used to be one of them, but now it was long parted. How time flies.  
    Well--- And his thoughts seemed to be endless, he thought, and sighed. It took him a moment to realise that the most important thing he needed to notice was the voice in his house. He was rich, so it could be a thief trying to steal his money, and since he was too old to defend him, that guy could kill him easily. But honestly, what killer would begin his murder with'It's fucking cold here?' That reminded him of John, too--- And their youth. Yeah, John used to be like that.  
So he turned to search for the resource of the voice. There he saw a figure of a young boy of eighteen or twenty, or a bit older, but he was definitely younger than twenty five. What was odd about him was that he seemed to have no real body. He rested where the wind took him to, and had no difficulty in staying up in the air for longer than a minute.  
   Hey, it couldn't be a ghost. He used drugs when he was young, he wasn't sure if it was just a mirage, but it looked just like John--- Oh yes, short brown hair, big face(he used to laugh at this) and his expression. Well, he was like the John in the 60s. Heaven knows how much he missed this bastard. He'd even seen his image after he died.

   He turned away with a sigh. He was too old now; not suitable to think of those sad things. He could not bear them. All he should do now was to enjoy his life with his family, quiet and happy. Not John, not his long separated friends. They were too painful to think of.

   He turned to face the wall and ignored the ghost(or image), trying to show it that he wanted it to leave. Somehow the ghost was not about to leave. He wandered everywhere in the house, whistling as he went, while talking to the old man.

   'Look what you eat, old fool!' He shouted, 'Vegetables? I thought you like biscuits more.'

   Oh god, he even began to have listening problems, Paul thought. However, he became quite patient when he grew old as all old men would be, so he waited silently without complaining. And his son was going to come back anyway, maybe he could tell him to see what had happened here.

   The ghost would not stop talking to him. 'Do you still write songs?' He asked. He waited for a moment for Paul to answer but had no reply. So he continued speaking himself. 'Maybe you still do, but they would no longer be hits. You are an antique now, you know.'

   Antique? Alright, he is. Once a child was even surprised to know he was a Beatle.('You are still alive?' He cried in disbelief.)  But music... It was really his life. He made 'Hope for the future' for a TV game not long before, but indeed, it was far from hits. Far from those he did with John.

   For God's sake, don't think of John! He cried in his mind. But it was no good. The ghost never seemed to be leaving. He just kept talking and talking and talking, not caring about the fact that Paul never answered him.

   They seldom talked after the break up, Paul thought, so it was good to hear him speaking, even if he was just a ghost. And his endless talking reminded him of one of the songs John made when they were in India. How does it go...

   'Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup' Well, the sound would not let him sleep, like this ghost. It was quite fine with him actually. He knew how much he missed John. He knew how much he wanted to say to him if he wasn't dead, how much he cherished him, and how much... How much he loved him. It was fine, he thought, he did not have to hold back his tears as he always did in the 70s. All he had to do was to close his eyes, sit back and relax, with John's voice as a background. It was better than any music it seemed.

   The ghost didn't let him down. He enjoyed hearing that voice, but he wasn't listening. Words lost their meanings. The voice was all that mattered. Until...

   'Paulie, please.' That sentence woke him up. John was begging him. In a soft voice, begging him to speak to him. 

   He sighed. What could he say? What could he say to this old friend? He remembered one of Oasis' songs which went, 'Son, words fail me.' Yeah, that was true. Words failed him. He sighed again, but this time he turned. 'What do you want me to do?'

   Then he froze, for he just noticed how close John was, or his ghost was. He was close enough for Paul to see the sorrow and pain in his eyes. 'Paulie, please.' He repeated. 'I want to hear your voice. You have no idea how much I missed it. Or how much I missed you.'

   'Miss me? Miss me? Come on!' Paul was surprised that John could still make him angry. 'It was you who left me alone!'

   Silent. He thought John would shout back but he didn't. He just stared at Paul in a heartbroken way. So Paul remembered that it was not John's fault to leave him.

   'Sorry.' He said. He tried to comfort him. 'I missed you, too,' he said, and John seemed to be a little glad when he heard this(a bastard he is), 'I admired you. I... I loved you.'

   It was supposed to be comforting, but somehow it made John anxious.

   'You did? You did?' He started pacing like a mad man in the room, 'Why the hell did you use past tense?'

    'Because you're dead!'

    John stopped. Suddenly he was getting nearer again. He was a ghost, so it looked like he was floating. He got nearer and nearer, then stopped a few inches away from Paul. 'But that never stopped me from loving you, Macca. You know that.' He hesitated a bit, and closed the gap between them.

    Shit. Shit. Shit. He was crying. No.

    'Paulie...' John pulled away, his hand brushed Paul's cheek but he could not reach his tears. 'How I wish I could kiss away your tears, Paulie, and kiss the sorrow out of you.' John said in a low voice. 'You broke my heart again, bastard.' Paul whispered. John shushed him with another cold, untouchable kiss.

    'I love you, that's all I can say.' He whispered. When he felt the lips against his own disappeared and opened his eyes, the ghost had disappeared, but he could still hear the whisper in his head, softly singing sweet nothing into his ears like a rhythm of rain that helps you fall asleep.

    

   


End file.
